


Martyr

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: IT Fanfics [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Creepy, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 21:58:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12118056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: True heroes are martyrs.





	Martyr

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote a few days ago. I thought I'd throw it up here since I kind of like it.

Bill held onto It with all the strength he possessed, hands wound tight around the bar positioned between It’s teeth like the bit on a bucking bull. His fingers ached from the effort of maintaining his grip. His knuckles were white, trembling, and his watch had become trapped between his wrist and Pennywise’s straining jaw. It’s movements steadily became less focused, less deliberate. Like a trapped animal, Pennywise was bucking and spinning and snarling, tossing them this way and that, trying to dislodge them-

And it succeeded, eventually, throwing them off one by one, until all that remained was Bill. He felt its hand fist around the back of his shirt before he could conceive of a plan of retaliation. It didn’t throw him like it had the others. It slammed him into the ground, winding him long enough for it to coil its long arms around him in a vipers hold.

Pennywise had always towered over them with ease, but with its arm draped over his clavicle and its fingers biting into his jaw and the sensation of its massive, trunk-like thigh pressed to his shoulder blades, it felt larger than it ever had before. Bill took shallow breaths, his skin crawling with the sensation of being so close to something so inhuman. Goose pimples developed on his arms. The fine red hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end.

He heard Beverly cry, “Let him go!’, and heard Pennywise reply in a snarl, “No. I’ll take him.”

The fingers on his chest spidered and scraped over his rib cage in rough, bruising movements.

“I’ll take all of you, and I’ll feast on your flesh as I feed on your fear.  _Or_ …” It waved a finger. “You’ll just leave us be, and I’ll have my long rest, and you will all live to grow and thrive and lead happy lives until old age takes you back to the weeds.”

Bill’s heart seized in his chest, a rush of adrenaline uselessly surging through his veins. It wanted him, and only him, and he was terrified of what that meant, because surely if all it intended to do was kill him, it would have done so already? He was plenty scared. He was terrified, in fact. A simple twist of his neck and it would all be over… but that wasn’t what It had in mind. It wanted to do something else to him, something worse than a quick, merciful death, and even after all the horrors the creature had exposed him to, he couldn’t imagine what gruesome end Pennywise was concocting for him.

But he recognised this as an opportunity – one Pennywise wasn’t likely to give again, should they be overpowered. His friends could leave safe and relatively unscathed. They could go away, back to their homes, back to their parents, and live normally and happily through adolescence and adulthood. He pictured them clearly in his mind, comfortable and content and old, and what right did he have to deprive them of a future for his own desperate need for retribution?

“Leave,” he told them. “I’m the one that dragged you all into this. I’m s-s-s-sorry.”

“S-s-s-sorry,” the clown parroted with a cackle.

Ben and Mike and Bev were shifting restlessly, appearing to want to approach, but not daring to do so while the clown had Bill in its grasp. “Go,” he cried, and It cackled again.

“Guys, we- we can’t,” Beverly started. She was interrupted by Richie, who clambered to his feet.

“I told you, Bill,” he said. “I fucking told you. I don’t wanna die. It’s your fault.”

Bill diverted his gaze, guilt hot and heavy in his gut.

“You punched me in the face, you made me walk through shitty water, you brought me to a fucking crackhead house, and now…”

A soft hiss filled the room as Richie pulled a bat from a nearby pile of junk.

“I’m gonna have to kill this fucking clown.”

Bill would have laughed were he not so  _stunned_  by Richie’s audacity. Pennywise’s arms had turned vice-like around him. A low, guttural snarl rose from the depths of its chest and it shook, perhaps scared, perhaps angry, perhaps a potent mixture of both. He expected it to lunge at Richie in that wild, desperate way it had before, but it didn’t. It dragged him backwards over cement and rock and Bill’s hands scraped along the grimy floor, dirt catching under his nails. He tried to find purchase and failed. Suddenly he was airborne. He heard his friends let out a chorus of screams and yells. He looked up just in time to see the entrance to a pipe winking out of sight and they went down, and down, and down, so far and fast that Bill thought he would die upon impact with the ground. It would rise up to meet him in a rush of cool air and his head would split open or his neck would crack and he would die.

He didn’t die. They hit the floor with a heavy thud, but Pennywise’s grip was firm enough to prevent him from being harmed. The creature was clearly exhausted, because it took slow, lumbering steps away from the opening of the pipe. Its breaths whittled in through its clenched teeth. Bill tried to struggle, to kick and yell and beat at it with his hands, but it remained unaffected by all that he did.

He wasn’t sure how long they walked before the clown stopped and lowered itself to the floor. The dark prevented him from being able to identify most features of the room, but the arcane wedge of light given off by the clown’s eyes enabled him to see a small pile of bones and great, sticky spider webs stretched across the ceiling. The stench of death was thick in the air.

The clown let out a rumbling sigh and Bill jumped. He could feel its chest vibrating against his back.

“Are you-“ He swallowed, struggling to maintain a level tone. “Are y-y-you going to l-l-leave my friends alone?”

Pennywise laughed. Its fingers clawed up his neck, jamming painfully against the thrumming pulse beneath his jaw.

“You should worry about yourself, Little Friend,” said the clown, its eyes boring into him with such intensity that his insides began to squirm.

Bill swallowed and turned away. He didn’t want to look at It any longer.

Pennywise’s nose dragged over his cheek. He gave a sniff, then withdrew with a scowl. “Mnmm. Not yet. Not scared enough.” Something thin and sharp slid across his clavicle and Bill didn’t need to see the spill of blood to know he’d been cut. He whimpered, grabbing at Pennywise’s arm, trying to pull it off. Despite the damage he and his friends had inflected, the strength it exhibited was otherworldly; Bill knew he wouldn’t be able to dislodge It no matter how hard he tried. “But you will be, Little Friend,” Pennywise murmured, cool breath rolling over his pallid skin. He grimaced, hard, as the slimy, bumpy tongue of the creature dragged over the wound and swallowed the life force that had seeped from him. “And I will  _savour_ you. I’ll have you little piece, by little piece, and you will be as filling as a dozen children. And then I will rest.”

“My friends-“ he started, but Pennywise merely laughed.

“Won’t find you. If they try, they will die, lost in my tunnels.”

He tried to listen for his friends, but he couldn’t hear them. No footsteps, nor voices. Wherever they were, it was far away from here… and maybe that was for the best, though Bill, because they would live long, fulfilling lives, and in time they would forget all the horrors Pennywise had inflicted on them and they would forget about him. But maybe they would remember just enough to save the children of Derry from It when It returned, and if they fought It as adults, they would surely win, because adulthood was synonymous with power.

“T-they won’t die,” he insisted. “ _You_  will.”

Pennywise seemed to find this claim amusing. It cackled and dragged a hand through his dishevelled red hair in a mocking parody of affection. He could remember his father doing this to him prior Georgie’s death, and perhaps that was why It did it, to sully what few good memories of his parents he had left.

“No, stupid boy.  _You_  will die. And before you go, screaming and whimpering and  _begging_ , I will show you my deadlights,” It said, its voice soft and dangerous. He could feel the glare of its eyes on his skin. “But you, I will keep you there, in the lights, in me, and in them you will live… and live… and live…”

Pennywise brushed its cool lips over his ear, a hint of teeth grazing the lobe, as though preparing to tear it off. And maybe It would, though Bill with a shiver. 

“Forever, Little Friend,” It whispered. “Because you wanted to be the  _hero_ , and the true heroes are  _martyrs_.”


End file.
